All in a Day's Work
by psychicscubadiver
Summary: Wilfred Xavier Manning is an exemplary clerk. However, he is somewhat less qualified to deliver invitations. Especially when the recipients are six of the strangest girls he has ever met. Such a minor detail means nothing to a man with Wilfred's sense of duty. Yet, there is more to each girl than there appears, and if Wilfred is brave enough, there may be more to him as well.
1. Chapter 1

All in a Day's Work

Author: psychicscubadiver

Editor: Silentcarto

Proofreader: Coandco

Disclaimer: I actually don't know if I need one in this story as all characters are human, and few even share the exact names as the ponies they are based on, but what the hell, it's tradition and nobody reads this anyway. My Little Pony and all related characters are owned by Hasbro. I am not Hasbro.

Chapter 1: A Special Task and a Kind Gesture

Wilfred Xavier Manning sat at his familiar desk, shuffling the same papers he always had. He paused to clear his throat, then went back to his work. An odd noise made his eyes dart up, inspecting the office, but they found nothing amiss. His ledgers were unchanged, his favorite pen was still in hand, and his inkwell was undisturbed. The rest of the room was quiet as a tomb, now that the scratch of his writing had stopped. The other desks sat empty, and no noise came from the cobblestone street outside.

Wilfred snorted as he passed silent judgment upon his colleagues. They were probably off on holiday or some other such rot. Unlike his brethren, Wilfred did not shirk his duties at the first opportunity. Being a clerk was his life, and the play of numbers and dust of his books was finer than any luxury. He was not happy, though he would have disagreed politely had anyone informed him of that fact. He was, however, content, and that went an even longer way than happiness in building a peaceful existence. His world was in perfect order until the bell rang.

By itself the chime was innocuous, charming even, but Wilfred could not have stared in more abject horror had a venomous cobra suddenly slithered across his desk. The bell itself was not a problem; the problem lay it what it represented.

A summons. One which he could not refuse.

Nervously, Wilfred put his ledger in order. His last page was blotted, his pen returned to its place and his inkwell capped. Carefully, he dusted off his coat, making certain his muted gray tie was straight. He considered pausing to shine his shoes, but he recognized it as only a desire to delay the inevitable. Wilfred did not want to face what was to come, regardless of its inevitability, but he abhorred wasting time even more.

With a heavy heart and slouched spine he began the journey up the handsome staircase that had not been in the corner of the room fifteen minutes previously. It led to a similarly handsome hallway decorated in dark woodwork and comfortable furniture. None of the art on the walls was expensive or ostentatious, but these pastoral landscapes were intended to soothe rather than impress. They were not entirely successful on Wilfred, but he appreciated their attempts all the same. In no time, he stood before a plain door. Wilfred knocked lightly upon it, hoping there would be no answer.

"Enter," a pleasant baritone replied.

Wilfred did, and he found himself in an office that looked very much like that of his former employer, only cleaner and better kept. The man sitting at the large oaken desk in front of him did not look like Mr. Greenfield, but that did not mean his appearance was unfamiliar. In fact, he looked almost exactly like Wilfred's paternal grandfather: a tall, formidable man with a broad, hard-worn face. He had been a factory foreman, well-used to giving orders. Wilfred had always been somewhat fearful of him, and his grandfather had never disabused him of that emotion.

The man sitting before him was incredibly similar to the old Mr. Manning he remembered, save for his eyes. His grandfather's eyes had been a hard, flinty sort of blue, but these eyes were bright and warm. Wilfred was never sure of their exact shade, because they seemed to change depending on how the light struck them. The man smiled kindly, another deviation from the relative Wilfred had known, and gestured for Wilfred to sit down in one of the office's many comfortable chairs. "Thank you for arriving so promptly. You're doing well, I hope?"

Wilfred did as indicated, but he sat at the edge of the seat so as not to sink into its cushioned depths. "Quite well, sir. How might I be of assistance?" The phrase rolled easily off his tongue from long use, belying his nervousness.

A small frown crossed his employer's face, as though he was disappointed by the impersonal response, but it vanished into another warm smile. "Mr. Manning, you don't mind if I call you Wilfred, do you?"

Wilfred did in fact mind, but he did not give voice to his annoyance. He was very aware of his place in the world, and this would not be the first time had been forced to endure a superior's eccentricity. It was a more tolerable habit than the horrid cigars Mr. Greenfield had been partial to.

Hearing no objection, his employer began again. "Wilfred, you have a dedication without equal. I can think of very few who could match your drive." Wilfred would have been astonished to be informed _any _colleagues that could match his dedication, but to say so would be arrogant; thus he remained silent. "Your work has not gone unnoticed, and this makes you perfect for a special task of mine."

Wilfred blinked, attempting to keep the surprise off his face. He had never refused an assignment before, regardless of difficulty, but what could he need done that that a simple clerk would be suited for? Unless some unknown accounts were in urgent need of auditing, Wilfred had little idea what help he could be. Despite his confusion, he gave the only appropriate response. "I would be more than happy to help, sir."

Rather than respond, his employer opened one of the drawers in his desk and began digging through it. Eventually, he retrieved six small papers, each one rolled into a tube and bound with a different colored ribbon. They also had tiny names inscribed on them, but the handwriting was too messy and cramped to decipher. Wilfred couldn't help wondering (in a strictly practical fashion) why the papers had been prepared in such a fashion. Perhaps they were invitations, but if so, surely an envelope would have worked better.

A serious expression met his eyes, when Wilfred finally raised them. "I would like you to deliver these to six young ladies. After you've finished, return to this office."

Were Wilfred more expressive, he might have cocked his head and asked incredulously, "Is that really necessary?" After all, his employer should have been able to summon them, whoever they were, as easily as he had brought Wilfred here. In his opinion, Wilfred would have been quite justified in questioning the obvious waste of his time, however valueless his superior seemed to find it.

However, Wilfred was not given to such displays, and thus only frowned slightly. "Who are they? How am I to find them?" Regardless of his personal opinion on the matter, he was an excellent employee and intended to do this job as efficiently as possible.

His employer chuckled and rose from his seat. Wilfred quickly mimicked him, as propriety dictated. "You'll know them when you meet them. Let's just say that they are… unique. Finding them won't be any trouble, either. Just take that door," he pointed to the door Wilfred had used to enter, "and you'll run into them eventually."

Taking that as his signal to leave, Wilfred gave a nod as crisp as a soldier's salute. The papers he tucked into his jacket's inner pockets, three in each one. He paused to gather his hat from the nearby hat rack, then opened the door. He was careful to shut it tightly before moving down the grey stone steps into the street outside.

The streets were as empty as his office had been. No pedestrians crowded the sidewalks, no beggars crouched in the alleys, no street urchins ran underfoot. No quick hansom cabs with their loudmouthed drivers, no stately coaches with noble crests, no wagons or carts hauling goods to and fro. The cobbles rang only with Mr. Manning's footsteps as he walked alone. A cold wind howled through the barren roads and shutters flapped in the breeze. The empty windows watched him like the hollow eyes of clean-picked skulls, but Wilfred did not mind.

Indeed, it was somewhat refreshing to be free of London's cloying press of humanity. It was odd that they would all be gone just now, but perhaps there was a royal coronation or wedding he hadn't heard about. It wasn't that Wilfred disliked good Queen Victoria, but he saw little point in paying attention to the activities of people so high above his station. It certainly was not because he couldn't care less about the life and times of Prince Some-such or Duke Something-or-another. Wilfred Xavier Manning was a solidly patriotic citizen of the British Empire, thank you very much.

It was an unfortunate truth that the streets of London can be confusing even to those who have lived there all their lives. Shortly after deviating from his traditional route between home and office, Wilfred became quite lost. He tried several cul-de-sacs, took some streets for which he could find no names, got turned around a few times and had to risk a number of shortcuts down narrow alleys which, to his pleasant surprise, were free of refuse. For some reason, he continually found his way to the entrance of one of the larger city parks. Wilfred was unfamiliar with the city's green spaces, having seldom visited them as a child and never as an adult, so he couldn't put a name to this one. He might have even thought it was a different park every time, but the brass statue of a bearded statesman confirmed the place's identity each time he found himself before it.

Wilfred rounded a corner, hoping to emerge on Fleet street, only to once again meet the metal face of the long-gone politician grinning from his pedestal among the trees. Pondering this unlikely turn of events, Wilfred decided that, perhaps, he ought to try the path through the park. The man-made woods appeared to extend a good distance, but he had exhausted every other avenue and gotten nowhere. A small voice in the back of his mind whispered that maybe he kept coming back because he was meant to take the park's path. Wilfred quashed the foolish notion and checked to make sure his hat was on snugly. Though it was only a top hat of modest height, there was still every chance of a stray branch snagging it from his head if he weren't careful. That was one of the many reasons he avoided forests: they were dangerous places and had no care for the sanctity of a man's hat.

Still, Wilfred was made of stern material, and he tramped into the unknown, taking care to stay on the neatly lined brick path. An unseen bird chirped as he passed between trees. Far from coming out upon a street he was familiar with, the vegetation only seemed to become denser and denser as he journeyed further. After some fifteen minutes of walking, the branches overhead had thickened into a solid canopy that allowed precious little light to enter the tunnel his path had become.

Well-used to reading sums by the dim light of a faulty lantern, Wilfred had no trouble seeing his path even in the thick shadows. As he continued forward, the trees became taller and broader, leaving more space between them, but the canopy remained as thick as ever. The forest was silent, aside from the occasional cheeps from its birds. There were no noises from the city around him, and even Wilfred's footfalls seemed muted. He was just beginning to consider turning back and trying another street, when he heard a soft cry.

Wilfred blinked and stared into the forest, surprised by the sudden noise. He was ready to dismiss the sound as a product of imagination (which, believe it or not, he did possess), when it came again. Unfamiliar with wildlife, Wilfred wasn't certain what sort of animal was making the noise, but whatever it was sounded hurt. He hesitated for a second, but with a quick glance at the path to memorize its location he set off to find the source of the cry. The animal continued to make its noises, and with little trouble, Wilfred was able to find it.

A small white rabbit had become tangled within a patch of briars. It was twisting and pulling, trying to free itself, but every movement only served to tangle it further, the sharp little thorns biting into it.

"Oh dear," Wilfred said, eyeing the trapped creature. At the sound of his voice it looked up at him. He winced, expecting the rabbit to struggle even harder upon seeing him, but his presence actually seemed to calm it down. _It must be a tame rabbit,_ he thought, _perhaps someone's pet._

Wilfred had already spent too long in this forest. If he were ever going to complete his task, he needed to be going. Yet, this park seemed rarely visited and the poor creature was clearly in pain. As he stood there, trying to decide which course to take, the rabbit let out a squeak that a more imaginative person might have called 'indignant'.

With a sigh, Wilfred bent to free the rabbit. "Very well. Be patient and I'll have you out in but a few moments." Talking to animals was not an activity he normally participated in, but he supposed a peaceful tone should help to calm the pet. Moving carefully, he grabbed the vines where there were no thorns and untwisted them. It was not as easy as finding the errors in an embezzler's account, but years of pen work had given him deft fingers, and they went to their task ably. In a short time the rabbit was free, and held close in one of his hands.

"There we are, little one. Now, where might we find your owner?" Far from showing any appreciation for the rescue, the rabbit began to struggle and kick in his grasp. Not wishing for the daft creature to fall and break its head, however much the ungrateful beast deserved it, he held on tight. He quickly, and painfully, discovered a flaw in his plan.

"Ahh!" he yelped, letting gravity take charge of the rabbit. "You bit me!" he yelled as the furry perpetrator scooted off into the underbrush. Grumbling, Wilfred nursed his poor finger as he made his way back towards the path. Or, at least, the direction in which he thought the path lay. Five minutes later, he had not found the path yet, though he was certain that his small act of mercy had earned him a wound that might well give him rabies.

His worry and dismay were cut short as he heard a voice from elsewhere in the park exclaim, "Oh, Angel Bunny, there you are! I was so worried." The voice was young, feminine and demure, and no doubt belonged to the owner of the rabbit. Wilfred was almost as fond of children as he was of cod liver oil, but perhaps she could direct him back to the path.

Although her voice was soft as a downy feather, the silence of the forest made her easy to pinpoint. Her constant stream of cooing and comfort for the little monster that had wounded him led him gradually past trees and around bramble patches. At last he saw a clearing ahead, one in which he was certain awaited the girl he was looking for.

He had expected a rich, young heiress bedecked in a fine dress, possibly with a silent governess in tow. What he now saw was certainly female, and perhaps young, but those were the only ways she matched his preconceptions about the rabbit's owner.

She was a slim girl, barely five feet tall with thin, graceful arms and legs. Her large sea-green eyes were almost hidden behind a cascade of rose-colored hair. Every movement she made reminded him of a doe he had once seen at a relative's farm: delicate and cautious, ready to dart away at any moment. Her sundress was too thin even for summer, a season already long past. Yet she showed no sign of being cold. That conundrum, however, was not the strangest thing about her.

That distinction belonged to enormous wings that seemed to sprout from her back as naturally as any of her other limbs. They were covered with large feathers of a soft golden hue, much like the first beams of sunlight after a storm. Currently, her amazing wings were wrapping the demonic rabbit in a tight hug, but Wilfred had no trouble believing that her wingspan was fully three yards, if not more.

All in all, Wilfred was presented with a panorama that would have disturbed even the steadiest of minds. Gears within his head spun aimlessly, the clockwork of his psyche refusing to accept this sudden and definite disruption to his worldview. A complete and utter evacuation of his senses seemed to be the only appropriate option, but there suddenly appeared a beacon of hope.

_Perhaps,_ he thought, _she is one of the girls I need to speak with._ The rest of his mind jumped on the idea, abandoning its frenzied panic as though it had never done anything so undignified. _Yes, of course, _he agreed with himself. _I was warned they were unique. Obviously, I've simply never had the pleasure to meet any individual with her … condition._ Settled upon a new course and secure in the knowledge that his employer knew some rather unusual people, Wilfred felt much better.

From her defensive posture, Wilfred gathered that the girl had noticed his presence. Both her eyes were almost hidden behind her hair, and her wings covered most of her body and all of her pet. During the brief leave of his senses he had probably been staring; hardly his fault, but he could see how the action might have unnerved her.

"My apologies," he offered, lowering his eyes. "I was just trying to find my way out of here and I heard your voice. I regret startling you."

A muffled squeak was the only response.

Wilfred frowned. He was not a sociable person by nature, but that apology should have more than made up for his gaffe. Still, nothing to do but press on. "Forgive me if I presume, but I was told to look for six unique young ladies, and I believe you may be one of them."

"Six?" she asked quietly. "You mean my friends and me?"

"I believe so," Wilfred replied. Some people might have smiled at their success. Wilfred merely felt a cool satisfaction. He moved slowly as not to startle her, reaching into his jacket for the invitations he carried. The first one his hand closed on was sealed with a golden ribbon streaked with rose-colored lines. He blinked at the coincidence but shrugged it off.

The girl leaned forward, took the letter, then darted away from Wilfred as though scared to death of him. She tugged open the ribbon and began to quickly read its contents. She finished with a squeak and her eyes darted towards him nervously. "Um…" she murmured softly. "I'm supposed to follow you back to your office once you've gathered all of us."

That made sense, Wilfred mused, though it would have been more convenient if the letter had merely included directions for her. Still, there was no helping what had already been set into motion. Perhaps it would even be for the best as she seemed to have an inkling about to whom the other letters belonged to. "Could I trouble you, then, to show me where I can find your friends?"

"Um, all right," she replied meekly, looking at her feet.

"Very well. Let us be on our way. If you'd be so kind as to lead?" He had meant it as merely a polite gesture, but the girl seemed to treat it as a serious question.

"I-I guess so. This way." She tucked the letter away somewhere in her plumage and gestured for Wilfred to follow. He did so, though the pace she set was frustratingly slow.

Wilfred tried starting a conversation, though it was more of an effort to alleviate his boredom than a real attempt at camaraderie. "Nice day we're having." The statement was true; the sky was bluer than he could remember in quite some time, though it did feel a trifle hot for the season. Of course, he had been running around for some time in full dress, which was certain to boil the blood somewhat.

The waif nodded and continued walking slowly, keeping herself hidden behind her long bangs.

Plainly rebuffed, Wilfred felt a stab of annoyance. He almost said something sharp to the girl, but stopped himself. Whether or not she deserved a pointed remark, she was unlikely to weather one soundly. Some measure of patience descended upon Wilfred as he considered her. Her _condition_ likely made her an outsider to most of society. Some might even claim her to be of supernatural or impure origins, though any fool could see she was just a girl, albeit one of rather odd circumstances. Still, her fear likely stemmed from such reactions, and she had no way of knowing that he didn't regard her with any such rot.

"I am sorry I have been terse with you," Wilfred said, as gently as he could manage. He strove to present a sympathetic expression and was partly successful, losing most of his perpetual glower. "I was not entirely pleased with this assignment, and it soured my mood. Then, the bite from your rabbit did little to improve my disposition, but that isn't your−"

With a gasp, her wings flared open revealing the girl they had been shielding. Those eyes that had darted away from him in fear now fixed on him, filled with concern. Her bearing completely changed from a shrinking violet to a worried mother. "I'm so sorry," she said. Her voice was still soft, but it possessed an intensity Wilfred had seldom heard. "Where did he bite you? How did it happen?" She glanced down at the pet still nestled in her arms with a cross expression. "Naughty boy, Angel."

Wilfred was more than a little taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor, but he adjusted accordingly. "It was on one of my fingers. I was trying to hold him still after removing him from a patch of thorns." He searched his hands for evidence of his wound, but curiously found none. The initial injury had hurt dearly, and Wilfred had assumed that stitches would be necessary. Now that he took the time to inspect carefully, there was scant proof he had even been bitten. Wilfred flushed slightly, embarrassed to have even brought it up. "Never mind, I'm certain he was just nervous."

She seemed aghast. "So he bit you after you helped him? _Very_ naughty boy, Angel." The rabbit squeaked in protest at her tone, but the shy girl was having none of that. "When we get home you are in serious trouble, mister."

The way the rabbit wilted beneath the gentle girl's piqued tone amused Wilfred. He had never realized rabbits were intelligent enough to read their owner's mood. "It is all right," Wilfred reassured her, smiling for the first time in ages. "I'm afraid I never caught your name, though."

She blushed, and mumbled something that he only caught the tail end of.

"Shy?" Wilfred asked in confusion. It was an odd name, but one that certainly fit her.

The girl, Shy, nodded in confirmation.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Shy. I am Wilfred Xavier Manning," he said, offering his hand. She moved her pet into the crook of one arm and used her free hand to take his.

"Likewise," she replied, giving Wilfred a soft, but pleasant smile. There was something in that smile that struck a chord. Something that reached into him and shifted gears that had all but rusted still. The feeling was gone before he could analyze it further. The sensation, though initially alarming, gradually faded to the back of his mind. After all, the day really was lovely, the scenery was pleasing to the eye, and it had been a long time since he had enjoyed, rather than tolerated, another person's company. It seemed a shame to ruin something so pleasant with analysis.


	2. Chapter 2

**All in a Day's Work**

Author: psychicscubadiver

Editor: Silentcarto

Proofreader: Coandco

Disclaimer: My Little Pony and all related characters are owned by Hasbro. I am not Hasbro.

Chapter 2: A Loyal Employee and an Honest Word

The profusion of apple trees was solid evidence that Wilfred Xavier Manning was no longer in London. Somehow, he and his almost silent guide had managed to leave the city of his birth completely behind. Wilfred did some small mental arithmetic, and found that they had indeed walked the requisite number of miles to reach the countryside. It was odd that such a path existed from one of the parks at the heart of the old city, but London's roads and byways were often a mystery even to its natives.

Wilfred had never heard of an apple orchard so close to the city, but that did not surprise him. He could not reliably name most businesses within a block of his home or office save for the few at which he was a regular patron. The air was fresh and sweet, and ripe apples hung heavy on every branch.

He breathed in deeply. The scent of healthy trees and fertile earth underlay the headier aroma of succulent fruit. Wilfred could barely remember the last time he had eaten an apple in the peak of season, and never had he tasted one fresh off the tree. The temptation to reach out and pluck one of the juicy fruits was strong, but he held himself back from such an action. Wilfred Xavier Manning was no petty thief.

"Oh, it sounds like she's working," Shy said, cupping a hand to her ear. A gentle smile bloomed on her face and some small amount of tension eased out of her shoulders. Wilfred paused and listened as well. The only thing he could hear, other than the sigh of a gentle breeze and sporadic birdsong, was a series of thumps. There was a pattern to them, but they were hardly rhythmic. Perhaps Shy's friend was using a hammer? Curious, Wilfred followed Shy as she left the path behind.

They followed the noise to its source in the middle of a large field of apple trees. The concealing nature of the artificial forest kept Wilfred from seeing Shy's friend until they were a mere fifteen feet away. He had only just rounded the last tree before being struck with another bizarre sight. A tall woman dressed in men's work clothes – dungaree trousers, an old shirt, and an oddly shaped hat – was working in the field. She strained, grunted, and occasionally wiped sweat from her brow in a manner that was decidedly unladylike. Indeed, if not for the way her shirt *ahem* fitted her, Wilfred would have thought her a strangely effeminate farmhand. Yet her mannish manner was not the greatest source of his amazement. That was reserved for the work she was doing. The woman was collecting apples… by striking the tree with her fists.

Were he not witness to the sight, Wilfred would not have believed it. Yet, every time the buxom blonde hit the tree, it trembled and apples fell into the waiting baskets scattered beneath its boughs.

Half-remembered stories sparked to life in the dim recesses of Wilfred's mind, and he actually recalled hearing of a similar feat. Supposedly, there were Orientals who could shake every leaf from a tree with a single blow, yet deal no damage to the trunk. Like any sensible man, Wilfred had dismissed those stories as flights of fancy, but here stood proof that he was wrong. It was readily obvious that some English farmer had heard the same stories and believed them. Either that selfsame farmer had studied under some Orientals capable of the feat or simply divined the secret for himself. Then, like any good Englishman, he had turned that ability into something practical. Not only practical, but simple enough to teach his daughter, as well. Wilfred seldom felt respect for those who spent their life tilling the Earth, but a man of that measure deserved nothing less than admiration.

"−jack." Shy called. From her troubled expression, this was not the first attempt to draw her friend's attention. The Amazon, probably Jacqueline or something similar, was evidently too absorbed in her labor to hear Shy's soft words.

"Miss Jack!" Wilfred called out in a strong, clear voice. Shy flinched away from his sudden outburst, but the blond farmgirl merely glanced at the odd pair of the orderly clerk and the waifish girl, relaxed her martial stance, and gave them a bright, guileless smile.

"Howdy, y'all. Sorry if I was ignorin' ya. My mind tends to wander once I get into the rhythm of workin'." She had a curious accent, not one that Wilfred could recall ever hearing, but then, every borough and shire of Britain supposedly had their own version of the Queen's English.

"No apology necessary," Wilfred assured her, reaching into his coat for another letter. The first he pulled out was enclosed with an orange ribbon laced through with gold. "I've been tasked with delivering these invitations, and I believe one is meant for you." She certainly qualified as 'unique', and Shy had identified her as a friend. The name on the side of the rolled letter remained illegible to him, but Jack's eyes widened in recognition.

"Well, now. Ain't this a surprise?" She took the letter from him and pored over it with a casual air. That Jacqueline, both a woman and a farmer, was literate came only as a small surprise; in these enlightened times, it was only fitting. The true surprise that Wilfred felt was in her reaction. To receive a letter from someone as important as his employer and act in so cavalier a fashion? It was curious indeed.

"I'd be right glad to help ya out, Will," Jack said, tucking the letter away into the voluminous pockets of her trousers. "Shoot, I bet you're already rarin' to get back to your job."

"Not at all," Wilfred lied politely. In truth, he couldn't wait to be back to his ledgers. True, the countryside was beautiful and the company pleasant, but every minute spent here was another minuteaway from his real work. If he was lucky, they would be back in time to get in another hour of paperwork. If he was unlucky, it would be quitting time and he would be unable to tie up those niggling loose ends until tomorrow morning. In light of that, the overly familiar diminutive Jack had used was only a minor annoyance.

"Oh, really?" Jack asked, arching an eyebrow skeptically. "You ain't in any kind of hurry, Will?"

A brief twitch marked Wilfred's irritation, but he strove not to show it. His perpetual glower might have grown a shade darker than usual, however. "I would never seek to hurry a lady," he replied crisply.

Jack snorted in disappointment, her eyes flat and hard. "Horseapples. It's plain as the nose on your face that you can't wait to get going." She let out a heavy sigh, and fixed her hat in place. "Well, let's get goin', then," she said, and set off at the brisk pace, Shy and Wilfred hurrying to follow her.

Jack's stride was equal to his own, and she marched with no sign of slowing down. It took several minutes and no small amount of effort to catch up with her, but Wilfred managed as they reached a hard packed dirt road running between two fields of apple trees.

"I believe," he said between breaths, "that Miss Shy is having some difficulty keeping up."

Jack stopped so suddenly that he almost ran into her. She turned around, her face red, and peered into the field where Shy was struggling to hold the pace. Her rabbit bounded along at her feet as she hurried. As she drew close, Jack grimaced. "Sorry there, sugarcube. You know how I can get."

"That okay," Shy replied, as she sought to catch her breath. "I understand." The waifish girl took a moment to gather herself, and Wilfred stood uneasily, not certain how to proceed.

Jack sighed and turned to him as they began their journey again at a far more sedate pace. "Look, I didn't mean to stomp off like that, but I hate gettin' lied to. It's bad when the fib's obvious and even worse when it's over something silly."

"I was only being polite," Wilfred said, a trace defensively.

"That ain't no excuse. You don't have to lie to be polite; you just gotta use a little tact. I can't say I'm particularly strong on that quality myself, but that don't mean it isn't an option. In fact, I've got a pretty good example for you, Will," she drawled, putting a subtle stress on that unpleasant diminutive of his proper name. Despite his attempts to keep a stiff upper lip, Wilfred felt his scowl deepen at being addressed in such a manner.

Jack just grinned. "Y'see? I can tell you don't like it when I call you that. If you asked me nicely to stop, I'd do it. That's tact."

"Very well," Wilfred replied. "Would you please refer to me either as Wilfred or Mr. Manning?"

"Sure," Jack said easily, a small smile a triumph in her expression. "No sense in pretending to like something you don't, and if somebody takes exception anyhow, they probably ain't worth being friends with."

She had a point, but Wilfred was not ready to admit defeat quite so easily. "However, at times it is necessary to lie. Should a highwayman demand to know many people are in the coach, should you tell him the truth? Even in circumstances less dire, near everyone has superiors and quite often there are things they simply do not want or need to hear regardless of the truth. Should you throw your career away and go hungry on the streets rather tell a single lie?"

Shy gave a small shiver at the mention of highwaymen, and Jack listened intently. The latter gave a begrudging nod in agreement. "I'll admit some lies are necessary, that robber one for instance, but which lies are necessary and which aren't? A lie might be easier, but most of the things a lie solves could be done better with the truth or just keepin' your mouth shut."

Internally grinning, though his outward expression remained the same, Wilfred pressed the attack. "Ah, but if a lie is harmless, why should it matter? Would you tell a child proud of a drawing how badly they have done, or tell a sick woman that her illness has made her ugly?"

Jack snorted and shook her head. "I'd tell the child they'd done well for their age, and I'd tell the woman that beauty's only skin deep. Just 'cause I said some lies were necessary, doesn't mean that lying is harmless. The more you make a habit outta lying, the easier it gets, and the more problems you try to solve with it."

She locked stares with him, her emerald green eyes deep and knowing. "But the worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves. You can bury the truth down deep and forget for years, but eventually it always comes to light. And when it does, the lies only make it hurt worse."

A chill raced from the base of his spine to Wilfred's neck. He felt a moment of vertigo that passed almost as soon as it had come. Jack was no longer looking at him, but instead had turned to watch the path ahead. Wilfred opened his mouth to say something, but it slowly closed.

For a farmer, Jack was curiously astute. It should have been easy to dismiss her words as the product of an uncultured mind, one unused to necessities of politics and urban life. Yet Wilfred found he could not. He certainly hadn't been won over to her cause, but there was something it what she had said that was impossible to disregard. There was a … kernel of truth, perhaps, in the midst of her rural philosophy. Another chill began building along his spine, cold knowledge seeping into his−

A crash of thunder equal to any cannon went off, and Wilfred was startled out of his contemplative state. Looking quickly around, he found that they had left the apple orchard behind and were now following a path through a gently rolling meadow. A humble village sat in the distance, but there was no evidence of storms or artillery around it.

"That'll be Dash," Jack said with a roll of her eyes.

"Oh, I hope nothing goes wrong. Some of those tricks are just so dangerous," Shy said, wringing her hands nervously.

"Dash?" Wilfred asked, curious how any 'trick' could produce a burst of sound like that. Was the person in question a firework maker?

"Our town's resident daredevil," Jack replied, shading her eyes against the sun. She raised a hand to point out a large bundle of clouds floating leisurely past. "Look careful now, and you'll catch a glimpse."

Confused, but obedient, Wilfred strained his eye to look in that direction. There appeared to be something swooping and darting among the clouds, disrupting the natural patterns and carving new ones. Some sort of bird? Wilfred was no naturalist, but he had never heard of this behavior from any sort of avian.

"I don't figger we wanna sit around all day just watching. Shy, Wilfred, cover your ears."

Wilfred blinked, but Shy already had hands over her ears as Jack drew in a mighty breath. Wilfred's hands had barely closed over his own before Jack let loose with a shrillest, loudest whistle he had ever heard. Even under the protection of his hands, his ears rung with the noise of it.

At last her lungs gave out, and the sound died away. Wilfred let go of his ears only hesitantly. "Was that necessary?" he asked, crossly.

Jack smirked. "I'd say so." The she pointed in the direction of the sky over the village. The bird was done swooping around the clouds and was instead rocketing this way. As it came closer and closer Wilfred realized that, despite the large wings, it was not shaped like any bird he had ever seen before.

In fact, those huge, blue wings appeared to be attached to a human figure. "Those limbs are functional?" Wilfred blurted in surprise, turning to stare at Shy. The quiet girl blush and shrunk away before nodding. Jack grinned and chuckled while Wilfred hastily remastered himself, cheeks aflame.

_Shy is rather clearly not the only person with her … condition,_ Wilfred thought, attempting to make sense of the impossible sight of a person flying. _But of course any others who shared it would live together. _The village in the distance took on a new light. It was likely that … stricken people and their families lived here, like a leper colony, in a way. An entire town of people hidden away from the world and those who would seek to destroy or exploit them. Likely, this village and others like it had been the work of good Queen Elizabeth. Perhaps the villagers were the descendants of those who survived the Spanish Inquisition and other foolish witch hunts.

However, it was neither the time nor the place for such woolgathering. With daredevil flair, Dash went into a steep dive, aiming right towards their group. It took every measure of Wilfred's British fortitude not to dive for cover, but his resolve held strong. And if his hands shook it was only because of the sudden breeze. Barely twenty feet away, those two massive wings shot out, catching the air and slowing the laughing figure with each mighty flap.

"Hey, slowpoke," Dash said to Jack with a brash laugh. "What's up? And who's the guy in the undertaker suit?"

Dash was a rather unique youth, and certainly the most androgynous that Wilfred had ever seen. He was so smooth-cheeked and so lithe of figure that he could easily be mistaken for a woman. The thick balloonist's jacket, wildly dyed hair, and cocksure attitude helped to dispel that illusion, even if his high voice did cast a mild shadow of doubt. Wilfred shook his head, amused with himself; as though the gentler sex could ever behave in such a way. Secure in his conclusion, he braced himself for an interaction that seemed likely to become abrasive. The fact that his employer had told him meet six girls had already been neatly excised from his mind.

"I have an invitation that I believe is yours," Wilfred said. This time the ribbon was a rainbow of colors, matching the stripes in Dash's hair perfectly. He snatched the letter with a blur of motion that Wilfred hardly saw, much less had the ability to prepare for. The ribbon was haphazardly thrown to the ground and the paper roughly unrolled. Dash's eyes roved over the invitation, pursing his lips as he read.

With a melodramatic sigh, Dash crumpled the letter into a ball and shoved into one of his pockets. "Fine. I'll go." Those massive wings stopped their slow beats and he landed lightly on his feet. "But this is really cutting into my practice time. I hope the boss appreciates the sacrifices I make for these errands."

Fluttershy put her hand to her mouth, doing a poor job of suppressing a quiet giggle. Jack didn't even bother; she laughed outright. "I'm sure it's right accounted for. After all, you're giving up _so_ much."

"I know, right?" Dash replied, either missing the sardonic tone or choosing to ignore it.

"Excuse me," Wilfred said, "but did you say 'the boss'? I was unaware we shared an employer." It also made an already confusing situation even more confusing. Why invite your employees rather than command them? For what purpose would one employ a farmer, a daredevil and a quiet nature-lover? Their unique abilities obviously had to be involved, but for what reason?

The trio of oddities shared a glance then all spoke at the same time.

"Sorta."

"Not really the way you're meanin'."

"Kind of, yes."

They shared another glance after their conflicting answers. Dash shrugged and bulled ahead. "We don't have 'jobs' or anything. Sometimes there's just stuff we gotta do."

"What Dash is tryin' to say is that we aren't employees like you're thinkin'." Jack rubbed her chin, her expression contorted as she seemed to search for the right words. "Y'see, we've got a duty because of who and what we are, but there ain't no money or employment involved."

"Ah, you are personally loyal to my employer, then?" Wilfred asked, hoping he'd gotten a glimmer of what they had meant.

"Yeah, that's about right," Jack said.

"What other kind of loyalty is there?" Dash seemed amused by the prospect, if his cocksure grin was any indication.

Wilfred made a sound that a less judicious person would have described as a 'fussy harumph'. "There, of course, exists the loyalty of an employee to his or her employer. I'm speaking of a certain respect for superior position regardless of the person who fills it."

"So you mean, like, obeying somebody because they're your boss?"

"Precisely," Wilfred said, feeling slightly more warmth than usual in his cool satisfaction.

Dash snorted and chuckled at that most uncouthly. "That's not loyalty! That's obedience! Anyway, I'll fly ahead and let Pinkie know we're coming." Without pausing for a reply, the impetuous flyer shot off leaving nothing more than dust and a few feathers in his wake.

"Those are not the same things at all!" Wilfred shouted at the departing figure. If Dash heard him, there was no sign of it. Without any further recourse in that direction, the clerk turned to the people left to him. "It isn't. Your friend is quite wrong on that account."

Shy withdrew behind the curtain of her hair and wings again as Jack chuckled and raised her hands in mock surrender. "You don't hear any argument outta me, do ya?"

Wilfred took a deep breath and calmed himself. It was so rare that he should lose his temper that most of those people who knew him would have doubted its existence. The young show-off, however, had brought it to the surface in record time. If there was anything Wilfred Xavier Manning prided himself on it was his loyalty. To even imply – much less outright state – that he possessed no such virtue grated upon him like little else. "Your pardon," he said, after restoring his neutral expression.

"That's okay," Shy said. "Not everybody gets along with Dash."

"Yeah, no worries," Jack replied with an easy grin. "Howsabout we get movin' again? Since Dash already headed off to Pinkie's, that may as well be our next stop."

"Certainly," Wilfred agreed. Despite a carefully projected calmness, his mind was still troubled. Of course he was loyal. What was loyalty, if not attending the person to whom you owed service? That the person to whom you owed loyalty could change meant nothing. When one monarch died, the loyalty of the nobles and the commons passed to their heir, and no one would dare call devotion to the throne mere obedience. Logically, Wilfred was certain he was correct. His approach was only rational.

So then why were his thoughts plagued with doubts? Why was it so difficult to banish Dash's simple words?

Silence ruled the trio as they walked towards the unimposing village ahead. Normally, Wilfred valued silence above any sound, finding the vast majority of chatter meaningless. Now, he wished for conversation to keep him from his thoughts, but even more than that, he wished he were back at his desk, doing his proper job.

There everything made sense. Sums and figures did not make him question himself. They did not twist his thoughts or knot his stomach. The longing grew so strong within him that he would almost swear he felt a physical pull back the way he had come. He dismissed the notion with cold pragmatism. Whether it was loyalty or obedience, he would fulfill his obligation, and flights of fancy were not conducive to completing his task.

And so, a man at war with himself made his way towards the small town of Ponyville.


End file.
